Chapter Twenty-Nine: Yu Ling Has a Fever

Zhao Chen’s whisper of "I will protect you" was like a brand etched with warmth, searing Yu Ling’s chaotic heart, yet strangely inducing a fleeting sense of numbness. A tide of immense exhaustion washed over her, instantly drowning her taut nerves and swirling doubts. Before she could even discern how much of that promise was sincere and how much was merely the masterful performance of a man well-versed in artifice, she was dragged into an unconscious abyss by a wave of heavy sleep.

It was an unsettled rest. Bizarre, fragmented dreams entangled her—a burning orange Lamborghini chasing her like a monster; the gratified smiles of her parents twisting and shattering amidst her aunt’s biting sarcasm; the cold, repetitive ringing of a telephone beneath Zhao Chen’s gentle smile. Cold sweat soaked through her thin pajamas; she struggled as if caught in a tempest, and every time she tried to wake, she was pulled back into the chaotic vortex of deeper dizziness.

It was unknown how much time had passed before her consciousness finally struggled free from the mire of the nightmare and surfaced.

Yu Ling labored to open her heavy eyelids. Her vision remained blurred for a long time before finally focusing. What greeted her was the familiar chandelier, with the soft, warm glow of wall lamps filling the bedroom. Her throat burned as if scorched; every swallow felt like a blade scraping against raw, parched tissue. Her head felt as though it had been filled with lead, with dull, throbbing pain pulsing in waves, tugging sharply at her temples. A deep, aching fatigue permeated the very marrow of her bones, making the simple act of lifting a finger feel like an impossible task.

"Cough... cough, cough..." She could not suppress the cough that tore through her chest, bringing a searing, ripping pain, while her throat felt parched to the point of smoke.

Almost the instant her coughing began, the bedroom door was pushed open with extreme gentleness. Zhao Chen’s figure appeared in the doorway; he was no longer in the "economical" cotton-linen shirt from the day, but in a soft, comfortable set of dark gray loungewear. He walked quickly to the bedside and leaned over, the back of his hand—cool with the freshness of the night air—naturally resting against her forehead.

The touch carried an unquestionable concern, yet the temperature radiating from his palm was alarmingly hot.

"You're burning up!" Zhao Chen’s brows immediately knitted together, his deep voice laced with undisguised anxiety. "You have a fever." He withdrew his hand and turned to walk briskly out of the room.

Yu Ling lay in a daze, watching his retreating silhouette vanish from the doorway, her mind a blank slate. A fever? No wonder she felt so wretched... Had she been caught in the rain last night? She didn't think so... Was it just that her body had finally succumbed to the exhaustion of this past period?

Soon, Zhao Chen returned. He held an electronic thermometer, his movements gentle as he brushed aside the damp, sweat-matted strands of hair from her forehead and carefully placed the cool probe behind her ear. With a soft beep, he checked the reading, and the expression on his face grew even more solemn.

"39.1 degrees," he murmured, his tone heavy as if weighted by a stone. He set the thermometer aside and, as if by magic, produced a glass of warm water with a clean straw inserted. "Lingling, drink some water. It will soothe your throat." He carefully supported her shoulders, pulling her into the crook of his arm, and brought the straw to her cracked lips.

Yu Ling drank in small, shallow sips. The lukewarm liquid glided over her scorched throat, bringing a moment of fleeting relief. She leaned weakly against him, clearly feeling the steady, powerful support of his arm, and caught the faint, clean scent of soap mixed with a hint of medicinal ointment on his skin. This fragrance inexplicably helped her taut nerves relax just a fraction.

"When... when did you get back?" Her voice was terribly hoarse, barely coherent. She remembered that after he had seen her parents off the night before, he had seemed to rush out after receiving a phone call.

"Just past three in the morning," Zhao Chen replied in a low voice while continuing to feed her water, his movements patient and meticulous. "I had to handle some urgent matters. When I returned, you were sleeping so deeply that I didn't want to wake you." His tone was casual, as if his late-night errands were nothing out of the ordinary.

Yu Ling did not press him further. She leaned into him, her eyelids growing heavy once more. After he finished feeding her the water, Zhao Chen carefully laid her back onto the pillows and tucked the corners of the blanket in. "I’m going to get your medicine; I'll be right back." He turned and left quickly, his footsteps muffled and light.

The bedroom grew quiet again. Yu Ling lay in a hazy stupor, the discomfort of her body magnified by the darkness and silence. The burning in her throat, the heat of her forehead, and the aching in her limbs made her let out a soft, pained moan. She curled into a ball, like a child seeking warmth, her consciousness drifting on the edge of clarity and delirium.

Before long, Zhao Chen returned. He held fever-reducing medication, anti-inflammatories, and a towel dampened with warm water. He sat by the bed, folded the warm towel neatly, and gently laid it across her burning forehead. The perfect warmth instantly eased the throbbing in her brow, so soothing that Yu Ling almost sighed aloud.

"Lingling, open your mouth." Zhao Chen’s voice was barely a whisper, filled with coaxing tenderness. He held the pills in one hand and the water glass in the other.

Yu Ling was too feverish to think clearly; she subconsciously resisted the bitter taste of the medicine, frowning as she turned her head away.

Zhao Chen did not get annoyed. He patiently called out again, "Be good, you need to take this to break the fever. Your throat is inflamed; if you don’t take the medicine, it will hurt even more." His voice was low and steady, carrying a strange, calming power that felt like a feather brushing against her heart.

Perhaps it was the fever clouding her mind, or perhaps it was the bewitching gentleness of his tone, but Yu Ling finally parted her lips slightly. Zhao Chen carefully placed the pills in her mouth and immediately brought the straw to her lips. She frowned, struggling to swallow them down with the water, the bitter taste causing her face to scrunch up.

"Good job," Zhao Chen praised her without hesitation, a trace of a smile in his voice, as if he were coaxing a child. He set the water glass down, picked up the towel, and wiped the cold sweat from her cheeks and neck with extreme delicacy. His fingertips occasionally brushed against her sensitive skin, carrying a warm dampness and an indescribable sense of cherishing.

Yu Ling closed her eyes, feeling the warm towel on her forehead and the gentle wiping against her cheeks. That cautious touch, the breath—lingering close by, smelling of medicine and clean soap—and his low, tender words... they were like a fine, soft net, wrapping around her layer by layer. The misery of her illness seemed to be insulated by this meticulous care, and a sense of dependency she had never known before began to quietly sprout within her.

After wiping away her sweat, Zhao Chen replaced the towel with a fresh, warm one. He did not leave, but instead pulled a chair over and sat down. The bedroom was very quiet, with only the faint, occasional sound of late-night traffic from outside and Yu Ling’s slightly ragged breathing.

Time flowed on in the silence. Although Yu Ling’s eyes were closed, the delirium brought on by the high fever made it impossible to truly fall asleep; her consciousness bobbed between waking and dreaming. She could feel that Zhao Chen had not left, that he was quietly keeping watch by her side. Every so often, he would reach out to check her forehead, sensing the change in temperature, and then tuck in the edges of her blanket with infinite care or replace the towel with a fresh, warm one.

It was unknown how much time had passed when Yu Ling felt the parched thirst in her throat surge once more, and she couldn't help but cough again, her body trembling slightly.